that distant voice would ring so clear
by LaughingSenselessly
Summary: "I told you to leave, and you stayed. I told you to run, and you walked towards me." She swallows. "Why did you do that?" Stiles is silent for a moment, not moving except for the thumb that sweeps a pattern of broad strokes across her cheek. And when he speaks, his voice is rough with emotion. "Lydia, don't ask me that. You know why." (Post 5x16 Stydia Missing Scene)
**A/N: Tumblr prompt- "Hey, I'm with you, okay? Always."**

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Lydia wakes up silently, with a start, in the darkness of the McCall house guest bedroom.

She sits up, letting her eyes adjust to the lack of light. Scott lies sprawled on one of the two beanbag chairs in the room, head lolling back and chest rising and falling steadily. He sleeps like the dead and probably won't wake at all until morning. Her gaze shifts to the other beanbag chair; Stiles is, predictably, sitting in it, leaned back with his eyes staring out the window. His eyes flick over to her, as if he's sensed her gaze on him.

They stare at each other a moment, before he says, "You need anything?" His voice is a pleasant kind of raspy in the silence of the night.

She swallows, throat feeling dry, and shakes her head. She could use another Tylenol, maybe, but she doesn't think any amount of medication is going to dull the supernatural ache that pulses in her skull. After the animal clinic, they'd brought her to Scott's house, where his mom and Deaton continued treating her and told her to stay the night. Lydia's mom hadn't argued this; in fact, she seemed to be agreeing.

Melissa kept telling Stiles to leave and go home, too, but he pretended not to hear– and maybe he couldn't, after all Lydia had made one of his eardrums burst tonight– but she had a feeling it had something more to do with the way he looked at her like if he so much as blinked, she'd disappear.

"I just can't sleep," she mutters finally. He nods in understanding. She keeps going, for some reason. The blanket of darkness gives her some sense of anonymity. "I keep seeing his face."

A pause. "Valack's?"

"Yes," she whispers. If she stares ahead of her, not looking to the side where Stiles is leaning forward, she can almost pretend no one is even listening. "And I open my mouth to scream and…" She considers stopping there, but… she can't. "And then I'm suddenly screaming at _you_. And I blow _your_ head off, instead." She bites her lip, feeling tears leak into her eyes. The dream had been incredibly vivid, and she's surprised she didn't wake up screaming too.

He sighs at that, and she hears shifting and then all at once he's standing by her, placing a finger under her chin to point her face towards him. Even in the dim moonlight, she can see the amber of his eyes, earnest and soft. "Hey, hey hey," he soothes her, sitting down sideways on the bed so he can reach with his other hand and place it on her tear-stained cheek. "It's okay. Don't cry. We're all alive, aren't we?"

She represses the shudder of a full-on sob from rising in her chest. "You almost weren't." She can't stop the words from tumbling out tonight, not when she feels vulnerable and soft and afraid. Her walls have crumbled down after everything, which means tomorrow she's going to have to build them doubly high. But she can't work up the strength right now.

"Lydia," he repeats, almost sternly, tapping her cheek with his thumb. She's not done, though.

"I almost killed you," she whispers, " _So_ many times tonight. And I _did_ hurt you. I screamed and I burst your eardrum."

"What?"

Lydia speaks a little louder. "I said, I screamed and I burst your–" She stops when she notices the stupid little grin curling on his lips.

She sighs with exasperation and pushes his hands away from her, but he's already chasing her again, saying, "sorry, sorry, I couldn't resist. But I'm telling you, that doesn't matter to me."

The sincerity in his voice is clear. She can't understand it; after all this time, he still has the capacity to look at her like she's hung the fucking moon. When in reality all she's done is batter him physically and emotionally, over and over. She needs him to understand that. "I told you to leave, and you stayed. I told you to run, and you walked towards me." She swallows. "Why did you _do_ that?"

He's silent for a moment, not moving except for the thumb that sweeps a pattern of broad strokes across her cheek. And when he speaks, his voice is rough with emotion. "Lydia, don't ask me that. You _know_ why. I can't– I can't leave you behind. I can't even imagine–" He shakes his head vigorously before continuing. "It wasn't even a choice for me."

She looks down at her lap, but he turns her face again, slightly towards him, and when their eyes meet he says gently, "Hey. I'm with you, okay? Always. I'm never leaving you behind." He offers her a soft, self-deprecating smile. "You're gonna have to deal with it."

There's a strange feeling rising in Lydia Martin's chest, something warm and comforting that radiates out through her veins, to her fingers and toes, and especially to her cheek, where his fingers still rest. She knows what that feeling is. But she doesn't want to identify it, because that would only serve to hurt her more. "I think I can deal with that," is what she manages, and after a moment of searching her eyes, he nods, standing up from the bed. She misses his weight on the mattress immediately, and the touch of his hand on her skin.

His expression has changed, and his tone shifts to something a little lighter. "Think you can sleep now?"

"Can _you_?" she counters.

He quirks an eyebrow up. "Fine." He looks at the clock on the wall. "There's still two hours until the sun comes up. I have two ideas."

"I'm listening."

"Option A. We have a staring contest."

She snorts, snuggling down into her comforts a bit more. He's being an idiot on purpose, to normalize things, and she appreciates it more than she could ever articulate. "Hmm. Pass."

"Damn. Okay, option B. We catch up on your homework, because I've been dying to know what good ol' Riemann was hypothesizing."

"You should've led with that," Lydia says, holding out her hands. He reads her intentions immediately, nodding briskly and turning behind him to the backpack sitting on the desk chair to pull out her textbooks.

She draws her legs up to sit cross legged so he can flop on the bed as well, across from her.

Two hours of zeta functions later and Scott finally stirs from sleep, Melissa comes in to check on them, and Sheriff calls to tell Stiles to get his ass _home, right now_. She watches him leave the bedroom after much shouting, but at the door he turns his head to smile at her slightly. She can't find it in her to smile back in the light of day– her walls are rebuilding as they speak– but she nods minutely, and that's enough for him, and he's gone.

It's later in the day, when she's completely bored of bedrest and counting the speckles on the ceiling that she finally registers something Stiles said.

 _Don't ask me that_ , he'd said when she asked why he didn't leave her. _You know why_.

 _You know why_.

Lydia turns those words wildly over in her head for the next hour, trying to derive a meaning from them other than the one she thinks she _knows_ to be untrue. Trying to understand why those three words sound a lot like a different three words he'd never said.

He'd whispered it to her, with his hand cupping her jaw and his voice steadying her soul: _You know why_.

She tells herself firmly that she doesn't.

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 **A/N: I'm so sorry I almost forgot to upload this drabble to here! hope someone enjoys it, haha. I'd love a review if you did :)**

 **wellsjahasghost on tumblr**


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